For Better, For Worse

No one ever tells you how bad heart break feels. They don't tell you that the ground beneath you falls apart. That the air becomes stale and breathing doesn't feel as natural as it did before.

No one warns you that you'll break down crying in the middle of the day. Or that you walk through your mind more than you walk through the real world. Remembering. Reviewing. Replaying. The good memories, the fight, the laughs, the hurtful words, the love, the questions, the times you stared at one another and felt everything else disappear.

They don't prepare you for sadness so overwhelming you can't eat or the weight you lose. They don't tell you that you become a ghost, a soul trapped in a body. That you can wash your hair and brush your teeth without being aware that you're doing anything at all.

But the worst part is that sometimes it's not the other person that breaks your heart and causes you pain. It's you. Your fears of love and commitment catch up to you, and you run before it gets too serious. Because love doesn't possibly last that long. You've seen it. You've seen the way people fight and disrespect one other, and you wonder that's what it leads to?

Or you think, I'm not made of enough love and goodness. What if I'm broken and don't have what it takes to love her for that long and end up breaking her heart later so I might as well break it now?

So you do. You end a relationship with someone you love so much, someone who loves you back just the same, and instantly you feel it. The punch in your gut. And you know you've done something wrong, but you don't admit it. You just know that suddenly you have to lean against the wall to walk.

So you pretend. You pretend like you made the right choice, and maybe you even start lying to yourself. You pretend that it's their fault. That they hurt you. That they did the wrong thing, and now you're heartbroken because of them.

All because you don't want to admit the unexpected truth: that you're so in love you can actually imagine spending the rest of your life with this person. This person and their loud laugh and stories about professors who inspired them. This person and the way they roll their eyes and cry in front of you even though it's hard for them to do that. This person and the way they fall asleep and feel like a Sunday morning under the blankets and did I mess up? Did I let go of the right person? My right person? Did I close my heart just when I was supposed to open the doors a little wider?

I've always wanted love. Raw, honest, vulnerable love. And I had that, with her. Since the beginning of our relationship, she'd share her daydreams about us and wishes about our relationship. She could look me in the eyes and not hesitate to keep looking. She was so real.

I could only look at her in awe. For her, sharing her feelings was like plucking petals from a flower. For me, saying words like You make me so happy I could fly felt like trying to open a stubborn peanut butter lid. And no matter how comfortable I felt when looking at her, I'd eventually feel subconscious or embarrassed and look away.

But I was inspired by how brave she was to love. So even though it took me some time, I'd tell her what I thought of her and all the colors she made me feel. I started chipping away at my mask.

But here I was, heartbroken ––because I'd picked up those very pieces and taped them onto my face again. Why had I done that?

That's when it really hits you. When you feel regret seeping in silently like water from a leaking pipe and you start questioning your decisions.

We don't discover who we really are until we're faced with two choices: to be the person we've always been or to be the person we've always dreamed of becoming. The person we truly are underneath our guise.

It was time for me to decide. Was I going to keep running or was I going to be brave enough to love?

I know the way life works by now. If I ran away, I'd fall in love again in the future, and I'd be forced to make the same decision. We re-live through lessons like these until we finally learn and make the right choice.

But I didn't want to fall in love with someone else. I couldn't possibly fall in love with someone else, so if I was going to fight, I was going to fight for her. I was going to battle every fear and every demon for her.

I'm not ready, I thought. That wasn't true either. I was just afraid to listen to the part of me that was screaming yes.

So I learned to listen. Even though it was difficult, I told my parents, my siblings, my best friends: don't tell me what you think. Don't tell me to stay away or give me any advice. I need to find out what I need to do for myself.

One afternoon I sat on the couch, and I just thought. I asked myself what I was really thinking and feeling. I questioned every thought and whether it was really mine or someone else's. I figured out what I was so afraid of. I asked if I was even ready to be in a relationship. For days, I didn't stop thinking until I got to the core. My purest truth.

For the first time in a long time, I felt like I could finally breathe. The trapped soul became a person once again. And even though the revelation was a relief, the biggest relief was getting myself back. Finding my voice was the greatest gift of all.

So even though my heart sounded like a drummer in a marching band and I could feel fear trying to wrap its fingers around my wrist, I told her, I want you back. It was my most selfish act yet. Whatever happened next was up to her, but at least I knew my truth.

I'd looked my fears in the face and let myself fall in love, and perhaps that's where the story should end. The protagonist (me) battled her demons and found her voice, but the truth is, that's where the story begins again.

Me. Unafraid. Brave. In love.

Weeks later, we were both in bed, tangled in between blankets. An open jar of peanut butter and two spoons sat to the side. My heart was wide open and everything I'd ever felt was on the tip of my tongue.

"I don't think I'll ever get enough of you," I said. "I feel like we could be together for the next twenty, thirty, forty years, and it still wouldn't be enough time with you."

The air felt alive. Warm and safe like home. She looked me in the eye and said with a voice so vulnerable my heart felt light: "Not right now, of course. Not today. But one day… will you marry me?"

For the first time, my heart wasn't pumping with fear. I wasn't worried about the future or stressed about what could go wrong. I didn't think. I didn't hesitate. Because I wasn't the same person I'd been before. And that word that'd been screaming, reverberating, ricocheting inside of me finally came through.

"Yes."

Me. Unafraid. Brave. In love.